


Disheveled

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Closets, Established Relationship, M/M, Making Out, No Plot/Plotless, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-17 10:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3526328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Gokudera is stressed today. This isn’t an unusual occurrence -- Gokudera can hold more tension in his shoulders than Yamamoto can manage in his entire body -- but it’s particularly evident from where Yamamoto is standing, just over the other boy’s shoulder so he can see the hunch of strain in Gokudera’s back and the line of tension that says he has his hands crammed far into the pockets of his jacket." Yamamoto pushes Gokudera until he snaps and they both get distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disheveled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiny_Pichu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/gifts).



Gokudera is stressed today. This isn’t an unusual occurrence -- Gokudera can hold more tension in his shoulders than Yamamoto can manage in his entire body -- but it’s particularly evident from where Yamamoto is standing, just over the other boy’s shoulder so he can see the hunch of strain in Gokudera’s back and the line of tension that says he has his hands crammed far into the pockets of his jacket. It’s why Yamamoto has been more talkative than usual, has been trying to needle Gokudera into some kind of relaxation, but that hasn’t quite worked yet; all he’s managed is to make everything more strained, until Tsuna has started edging a little farther ahead of them like he can get out of range of the oncoming explosion.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine on the entrance exams, Tenth,” Gokudera is saying, pushing against the same subject he’s been talking about for the last two weeks. “But we need to make sure everyone else can keep up,” that with a glare at Yamamoto, a precision strike of green eyes that doesn’t do anything except catch Yamamoto breathless with want. “Just a few study nights a week would be a good start.”

“You worry too much, Gokudera,” Yamamoto declares, stepping in closer so he can throw an arm around those strained shoulders. This close he can smell the almost-spicy of Gokudera’s hair, can turn his head and be in range of a kiss. “It’ll all turn out okay in the end.”

He can feel the breaking point give way under his arm, Gokudera’s frayed restraint collapsing even before the other twists towards him, pulling out from Yamamoto’s arm so he can twist his hand into the front of the other’s dark uniform sweater. “You’re an  _idiot_ ,” he says, his voice rising into nearly a shout as the anxiety in him transforms into anger, and Tsuna turns to rush down the hallway and take refuge in the classroom. The lingering students around them are hurrying too, clearing the space as fast as they can, but Yamamoto doesn’t notice them other than as motion in the corner of his eye; there’s too much to see right in front of him. Gokudera’s eyes are electric, sparking irritation and lighting Yamamoto’s blood on fire, his mouth sharp on a frown that does nothing at all to hide the soft of his lips, and he’s glaring with so much pent-up frustration Yamamoto forgets that he has the advantage of height and size, capitulates immediately when Gokudera drags at his sweater to pull him in closer.

“ _You_ ,” he starts, the word so laced over with anger there’s almost no coherency to it beyond a growl, and Yamamoto ought to let him finish his sentence, or maybe ought to laugh to break the explosion that is coming for him, but he’s too close now and all he can look at is Gokudera’s mouth. He doesn’t mean to slick his tongue across his lips, doesn’t mean to make the little whimper of want that forms in his throat, but the motion and the sound are both free before he realizes it, and Gokudera is reeling back, pulling out of accidental range of Yamamoto’s mouth.

“ _Idiot_ ,” he says again, and he’s moving sideways without letting Yamamoto’s sweater go. Yamamoto stumbles at the sharp turn, has to take a few steps before he’s caught his balance, and Gokudera is dragging him without looking, beelining for a door Yamamoto doesn’t recognize in the shadows at the end of the hallway, at a distance from the cluster of classrooms. Gokudera drags the door open, shoves Yamamoto into the space, and Yamamoto only has time to process that it’s not the classroom he was expecting but a closet, storage for something absent at the moment, before the door is slamming and dropping him into darkness.

Gokudera’s on him almost before he turns. There’s a hand at the back of his neck, dragging him down with the same violence the other showed to his sweater, and Gokudera’s other hand is shoving up the bottom of Yamamoto’s shirt, his fingers dragging against the other boy’s skin even before their mouths crush together. Yamamoto whines at the contact, reaches out to fumble at Gokudera’s jacket and drag him closer, but Gokudera is shoving him back against the wall, kissing him with as much intensity as if it’s been more than a few hours since he last touched Yamamoto’s mouth.

“Idiot,” he repeats, a breathless gasp before he leans back in to slide his tongue past Yamamoto’s lips and lick against the roof of the other’s mouth. His hand is shoving Yamamoto’s shirt up high across his chest, pressing friction burning across the other’s skin, and Yamamoto is falling back to the wall, relinquishing support of his body because he can’t trust his legs to do the job when Gokudera’s mouth is against his. For a minute there’s just heat, Gokudera’s tongue sliding over his lips and Gokudera’s hands at his neck and up against the flutter of Yamamoto’s breathing in his ribcage. By the time Gokudera pulls back they’re both panting, breathing hard like they’ve been running.

“Don’t  _do_  that,” he says, like he’s picking up some train of thought Yamamoto can’t follow. Yamamoto gasps air, tightens his grip on Gokudera’s jacket with one hand and reaches out for the soft of the other’s tie with the other as Gokudera continues. “You touch me and I just--”

“Can’t resist,” Yamamoto finishes for him, leaning back in to find Gokudera’s mouth in the dark. Gokudera’s sigh of resignation comes hot against Yamamoto’s mouth, his hand sliding sideways and around to press against the curve of the other’s spine.

“We have to get to class,” Gokudera says with no certainty in his tone. He’s leaning in closer, pushing Yamamoto farther against the wall by arching his hips in against the other.

“Yeah,” Yamamoto agrees. He lets Gokudera’s jacket go completely, reaches to brush his fingers over silver hair. Gokudera makes a sound low in his throat, something like a half-formed purr, and when he leans in for another kiss Yamamoto meets him halfway, stalls out their conversation for the catch of lips and tongues.

“If we don’t show up everyone will be suspicious,” Gokudera says when they pull apart again. His voice is going heavy, the pleasure-weighted tone that always comes when his eyes go dark and hazy, and Yamamoto’s knees give out completely, slide him down the wall to the floor. Gokudera follows him, dropping down over Yamamoto’s legs, and when he hesitates Yamamoto tugs at his tie to urge him back in closer.

“They’ll wonder where we are,” Gokudera points out as he shifts in over Yamamoto’s knees, close enough to straddle the other’s lap. Yamamoto ducks his head into Gokudera’s shoulder, turns so he can press his lips to the warm curve of the other’s neck.

“They’ll just think you’re yelling at me again,” he says against Gokudera’s skin. He can feel the way Gokudera shudders, the arch in his back as he rocks in closer and slides his hand down Yamamoto’s neck to dip under his collar. “It’s fine, no one will care.”

“You take things too easy,” Gokudera complains, but he’s pressing in, close enough that his loose tie catches on the rumpled mess of Yamamoto’s sweater, and the movement of his hand says nothing at all about going back out. Yamamoto smiles into the darkness, kisses at Gokudera’s neck again, and when he pulls away it’s only to meet Gokudera’s half-parted lips.

By the time they do make it to class Yamamoto is well past the point of caring what anyone thinks. Gokudera is flushed and disheveled, his hair such a mess that fingers can only do so much to help, and Yamamoto thinks he might look tidier but he feels half-melted, can feel the echo of Gokudera’s fingers on his scalp every time he ruffles his hair up.

He doesn’t learn that much in class that day, but it’s worth it, to see the relaxation in Gokudera’s shoulders clear from across the classroom.


End file.
